


Passing Fancy

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Alternate Reality, Bad Fic, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another world, a young Casey meets a Dan gone badly astray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> Written August 2006. Every fandom needs a teenage!junkie!runaway!hooker fic - or maybe not _needs_, but certainly _gets_ \- and I don't know why _Sports Night_ should miss out.

Fifty bucks. There's no way he'll be able to lose this in his expenses. If he'd had a little more experience under his belt, then maybe. But this is only his second out-of-town assignment, his first to the big city.

_Sin City._

No, he'll just have to find the money out of his own pocket. Not easy, with Lisa keeping check of every red cent, putting it all toward her dream wedding, their perfect home. But he'd looked up from his beer to see wide, dark eyes, long dark hair, a crooked, curving mouth full of sensual promise, promise of all the things that Lisa won't do, won't let him do …

Fifty bucks. He let himself be towed out to the alley behind the bar. The kid's on his knees before him, soft lips and clever fingers, wicked tongue and sharp little teeth giving Casey a foretaste of what he can expect for his money. _Bang for your buck_, he thinks, a little hysterically, and his fingers tighten in the boy's hair. Fingers dig into his hips in return, and he shifts to loosen them. _For fuck's sake, don't leave bruises!_

Much, much later, when Casey can think clearly again, his journalistic instincts take over; he rolls over and props himself up on his elbow, contemplating the sleeping figure by his side, wonders what the boy's story is. He's well-spoken, clean; his clothes are no more than shabby-chic. He may be walking the streets, but he's not living on them. Is this his way of getting his kicks? Some extreme form of teenage rebellion? (And with that, Casey realises, belatedly guilty, that there was no way the kid should have been in that bar; Casey would lay the cash he no longer has in his wallet that he's not even out of high school yet.)

How did a nice boy like this end up whoring himself in the back-alley bars of New York?

When the kid wakes and Casey looks into pupils that are no more than dots, wraps his arms around narrow, bony shoulders to still their shaking, he has his answer.

He wishes there were something he could do. But, helpless, all he can do is hold on as long as he can, then watch as the door swings shut.

He'll go home to Lisa. And he'll never see that boy again.

***


End file.
